British Isles Part 1

(Written 10/26)

Walking to the train in the pre-dawn dark amidst a whole new group of early morning movers, I see my town anew. The sudden shock of a man smoking as he rides his bicycle with the other hand jars me into awareness of the simpler differences around me -- the cobblestones, the chocolate shops, the Dutch, and all the other traits that, at some point in the last two months, penetrated my sense of home, and in so doing, made themselves invisible. My travellers eyes are returning and and I feel a wash of familiar feelings that I haven't felt in some time. Its strange that the place I feel most at home right now is not a home at all, strange that part of me, the pack-a-little-extra, expert train-finder, airport-floor napper, that friend who knows far better than I how to slow down and be, seems only willing to meet on the go as we share a styrofoam cup of tea on this 2-hr flight. The mist and fog of the morning make for a dramatic takeoff. The landscape appears clearly for just long enough to establish the setting, then fades speedily into a liminal nothingness. I am travelling again.


The first stages of this trip are shaping up nicely. After dealing again with the linguistic disorientation of French-speaking Belgium (now I can't seem to speak French without switching into Dutch), I made my way to the gate and discovered that I had just barely averted disaster. You see I thought my Belgian Identity Card (which I had just gotten the day before) was all I needed to travel within the EU. Not so. Fortunately I had decided at the last minute to bring along my passport just in case. From there it was smooth sailing. I met a Scottish singer / songwriter on the bus who has been travelling around for 23 years and he would've been able to point me in the right direction on the other side had we not gotten split up in customs. The RyanAir inflight magazine had a 10 page article on Edinburgh, my main destination in Scotland so that more than made up for the loss. Ryanair planes look like the planes that Walmart would build, everything's cheap plastic (well, the interior at least) and tacky colors. But you can't argue with the price (as low as $20-30 including taxes).

First impressions off the plane:
Its incredibly pretty here. You see rolling hills as you land. The spaces between the runways are covered with a rich rugged wild sort of grass. The air smells like horses and musty meadows, even from the tarmac. Everything in the airport is smaller and cuter than the US. The customs security agent told me to wait "two ticks, love" The police walk around in uniform with dogs, but the dogs are frumpy and shaggy and barely come up to your knee. There are clouds, yes, but not like in Belgium. Its like someone took that grey sober sky and lifted it up a few hundred feet where it dried out enough to form cracks through which blue skies and sunbeams can stream down through. This land is the inspiration of Mists of Avalon, the stomping grounds of Oberon and Queen Maab.

I'm in Glasgow for the day. Harry has some work responsibilities there, so we'll meet at the train station later and head back to Edinburgh where he lives. From then on its 5 more days in Scotland and then 5 days in Ireland before returning back to Belgium.

I'll keep you posted.